And the worn corner of a textbook,
Blocks a few burning rays,
Building a citadel across,
The scratched surface of an unstable desk,
Gently rocking beneath my words,
That show themselves between feint ruled,
Lines of a notebook filled with,
Plans, pain and poems,
Abstract sketches of worlds I made and,
Shadowy drawings of what I,
Could, might, mustn't do,
Confessions to myself alongside,
Drafted chapters as yet undecided,
Unchecked, raw,
Seventy-two sheets not yet,
Filled with my written song,
Still not complete,
Like my jumbled thoughts which,
On occasion grace the page.
Mar 19, 2015
Mar 19, 2015 at 11:26 AM UTC
And the worn corner of a textbook,
Blocks a few burning rays,
Building a citadel across,
The scratched surface of an unstable desk,
Gently rocking beneath my words,
That show themselves between feint ruled,
Lines of a notebook filled with,
Plans, pain and poems,
Abstract sketches of worlds I made and,
Shadowy drawings of what I,
Could, might, mustn't do,
Confessions to myself alongside,
Drafted chapters as yet undecided,
Unchecked, raw,
Seventy-two sheets not yet,
Filled with my written song,
Still not complete,
Like my jumbled thoughts which,
On occasion grace the page.
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